A celebration of Comedy
by Demi-goddess
Summary: You read right, folks! Read this to have a right old laugh at a celebration of British comedy with all your fav Beyblade characters squirming with embarrassment!
1. Blackadder and Majestics

Okay, this is just a random fic filled with randomness... each chapter will be dedicated to a different comedy, including such shows as-

_Blackadder  
Monty Python  
Little Britain _

And many more...so i hope you enjoy this random fic full of randomness...

This first chapter is a dedication of Blackadder. For those who don't know, Blackadder is a 'series' done by the BBC (British Broadcasting Center) which shows a funnier side of history, including the Elizabethan times and even World War Two. It stars stars like Rowan Atkinson, Tony robinson, Sir Stephen Fry, Hugh Laurie and Tim McInnery; such a funny bunch...

And this chapter's stars are...

_The Majestics..._

* * *

**The little line breakers symbolize a totally new 'story'.**

* * *

All was almost silent in the Giancarlo mansion in mainland Italy, or if you want to get technical, 'Rome'. The four Majestics, a beyblading team, a team that beybladed, were walking down one of the long corridors that was very long. They were stopped, however, by Enrique's personal butler. 

"Master Enrique," He addressed the young Italian.

"Ah, Piddlesworth. I hope you are feeling better."

"Yes, thank you sir. I would like to request a short stay off, though, for the heart operation has taken a lot out of me…"

"Well, that's for your boss to decide and I must say, if he denies you, he must be bleating mad." Enrique replied.

Piddlesworth blinked. "But, sir, you are my boss."

"Well…?"

Piddlesworth sighed. "May I have a short stay off to recuperate?"

"Certainly not."

"Thank you sir."

"Baaaaaaaah!" Enrique called back as he walked down the corridor, leaving the Majestics puzzled and staring after him…

* * *

"Hey Enrique, I need your help with something." 

"What with, Johnny?"

"Right, tonight, I'm having a drinking competition and-

"Oh-oh, no way-hosey, mister. You are _not _having a drinking competition!"

"Oh, why not!" Johnny whined.

"Because everytime you have even a drop of alcohol, you start singing about some little goblin!"

"But this is what I need your help with. W- Wait a moment! I do not!"

"How do you know? You're drunk everytime you start singing. Oh and just to let you know, I use 'singing' in a broad tense."

"Bastard…" Johnny muttered. "But hear me out. When I ask for my 'extremely strong ale', you pass me an ale bottle containing water."

"That is cheating, mon ami." Oliver said as he walked in, obviously having heard the conversation. "But just do it, Enrique. I do not want to hear his 'singing' one more time…"

"So will you do it?" Johnny asked as Enrique sat there with a thinking face on.

"So…" He paused. "So… so when you ask for your 'extremely strong ale'… I pass water! I get it!"

As Enrique walked away, Johnny realised what the Italian had said.

"Wait! Enrique, wait!"

_(Later that night)_

Many people, mostly teens, had turned up at the Giancarlo mansion in 'Rome'. These teens were mostly old blading rival teams, but were now (or they assured were now) friends. Currently sitting in a circle, they were looking expectantly at Johnny, as if waiting for him to break into song; which was ironically what they were waiting for.

"Hey Enrique!" Johnny called out. "Get me my extremely strong ale, will you?"

Gasps went round the room as Enrique walked in, carrying an ale bottle with the words 'Ye extremeli storong allle' printed on the side. Enrique glanced at Oliver and Robert, before winking. They groaned and ran out. Enrique handed the bottle to Johnny, who then took a swig.

"Now!" He proclaimed. "Who said I couldn't…er…"

He never finished because he fell backwards. Enrique fell into a fit of laughter as everyone sweatdropped. But they all stopped as Johnny sat up suddenly, a demented look on his face… he started to sing…

"See the little gob-lin,  
See his little feet,  
See his little nosey-wosey,  
Isn't the goblin sweet?"

"Hurrah!" everyone shouted, clanging beer bottles.

* * *

Once again, all four Majestics were seated in the main room, but were playing eye spy… what? The rich folk have fun too. 

Although, Robert wasn't joining in, preferring to read a novel/book; whatever you want to call it.

"I spy with my little eye…" Johnny said, looking around the room for something; he caught sight of a mug, "something beginning with 'M'."

"Erm…" Enrique wondered out loud.

"Mmmmm…" Johnny encouraged.

"Erm…"

"Mmmmm…"

"Erm…"

"Mmmmm…"

Robert slammed the book shut in frustration. "Mug!"

"Oh, I say. Well done. Your turn." Johnny replied.

"I spy with my bored little eye, something beginning with 'T'."

"Breakfast!" Enrique shouted out.

"…What?"

"My breakfast always begins with tea, and I have a little sausage, and a egg with some little soldiers." Enrique replied.

"Enrique," Robert answered, "when I said it begins with 'T', I meant a letter."

"Nah. The postman don't come till 10:30."

"I can't go on with this. Oliver, take over."

"Alright… Erm… I spy with my little eye, something beginning with 'R'."

"Army!"

"For God's sake, Enrique!" Robert shouted. "Army begins with an 'A'. He wants something beginning with 'R'. Rrrrrrrrrrrr!"

"Motorbike!"

"What!"

"A motorbike begins with a 'Rrrrrrrrrrrr! Rrrrrrrrrrrr!'."

"Alright, alright, right, right, right. My turn again. What begins with Come here' and ends with Ow'?"

Enrique shrugged. "I dunno."

"Come here."

Enrique stood and moved over to Robert, whom then punched him squarely on the nose.

"Ow…"

"Well done."

* * *

"Oh, um… You missed a bit, Enrique." Johnny muttered. 

"Oh!" Enrique plunged his hand into his pocket and rummaged around, eventually pulling out a tiny brush. He scrubbed away the 'dirt' and smiled. "There."

"Oh, crap." Came a curse from the doorway.

Both teens looked over to see Oliver and Robert. They grinned and waved.

"Good lord, what happened to the furniture?"

Quite right, Robert. What had happened to the furniture… the once grand room that had been filled to the brim with furniture was… now not grand at all. Nothing, apart from one sofa, was in the room.

Oliver sighed. "Please don't tell me your friends are coming over. You know, the actors?"

"Well, too bad, cos they are!"

"Well, I'm leaving then."

"…what? Why?"

"The last time your 'friends' came over, they tried to get me in one of their stances. Legs so wide apart it looked like they were riding an extremely fat, invisible horse; arms looking like they were trying to hug the empire state building; shoulders thrust so far out, you'd swear they were attached to a pair of charging elephants; and roaring like a pair of lions in mating season!"

"Oh please stay!" Enrique begged. "If they show up and it's only us, we'll never get a part in their play!" (Like they need the money…)

They all stared at the French boy. "Fine!" He said, throwing his hands in the air. "I'll stay. But…"

"We know. No stances." The two wanna-be actors chanted.

Oliver sighed and slid down the nearby wall, Robert following suit. Silence reigned the room with it's evil ways and sorcery and- sorry, caught up in the moment.

Enrique broke the silence. "You know, the actors remind me of something."

"What? You?" Oliver joked.

"No. No. My uncle was in a film once."

"Really?" Johnny asked; he had obviously not known this. "What was the film called?"

"I think it was called 'Macbeth'."

"What did he play?"

"Second codpiece. Macbeth used him in the fight scenes…"

"Oh," Robert replied, "so he was a stunt codpiece."

"…" Internally, Oliver was smirking, but outside his face was blank. "Did he have a _large_ part?"

Enrique paused to think. He shrugged. "Depends on who's playing Macbeth."

"Oh, incidentally, Enrique - actors are very superstitious. On no account mention the word 'Macbeth' this evening, alright?" Oliver said.

"Huh? Why not?"

"It brings them bad luck and makes them very unhappy."

"Oh, so you aren't going to mention either?"

"No…" Oliver turned to Robert and whispered- "Well… not very often…"

_(later that night)_

Knocks.

Pauses.

More knocks…

Getting more impatient.

Robert kept glancing at Oliver to see if the boy would go get the door (since he was in charge of getting the door). Oliver was casually flicking through a magazine, oblivious to the knocking.

"Hey, Oli! Get the door, will ya?" Enrique's voice drifted in from somewhere.

Oliver sighed and stood, walking over to the door. "You should've knocked." He said to two middle-aged men.

"Our knocks, impertinent boy, were loud enough to wake the hounds of hell!" One of them said. They gave Oliver their hats.

"Lead on, Mc Duff." One said.

"I shall, Mossop."

Oliver frowned and dumped the hats on the floor, kicking them outside in one sweep.

"…lest you continue in your quotations and mention the 'Scottish Play'." Mc Duff said to Mossop.

"By the 'Scottish Play' I assume you mean 'Macbeth'." Oliver said.

"Ah! Hot potato, off his drawers, pluck to make amends!" They chanted, doing actions with their hands that can be called 'pat-a-cake'. At the end they pinched each other's noses and yelled in pain.

"…What was that?" Oliver asked, wierded out.

"We were exorcising evil spirits." Mossop retorted. "Being but a mere butler-" Oliver puffed his cheeks out, "-you will not know the great theatre tradition that one does 'never' speak the name of the 'Scottish Play'."

"What, 'Macbeth'?"

"Aahhhhh! Hot potato, off his drawers, plucks to make amends. Ohhh!"

"Good lord, you mean you have to do 'that' every time I say Macbeth'?"

"Aahhhhh! Hot potato, off his drawers, pluck to make amends. Owwww!"

"Will you please stop saying 'that'! Always call it the 'Scottish Play'." Mc Duff insisted.

"So you want me to say the 'Scottish Play'?" Oliver replied.

"YES!"

"…Rather than 'Macbeth'?"

"Aahhhhh! Hot potato, off his drawers, pluck to make amends. Owwwwww!"

Just at that moment, Johnny and Enrique entered.

"For heaven's sake," Johnny yelled, "what is all this hullabaloo, all this shouting and screaming and yelling blue murder? Why... it's like that play we might be in, what is it called... umm.."

"'Macbeth'?" Offered Oliver.

"Aahhhhh! Hot potato, off his drawers, pluck to make amends. Owwwwww!" The actors chanted.

"No, no, it's called Julius Caesar." Enrique replied.

"Ah yes, of course. 'Julius Caesar'." Robert said, knowing too well what Oliver was going to say.

"... not 'Macbeth'." Oliver finished.

"Aahhhhh! Hot potato, off his drawers, pluck to make amends. Owwwwww!"

Johnny and Enrique were looking wierded out; Oliver and Robert are looking plainly amused. Such a contrast between close friends…

Oliver turned to Johnny and Enrique. "Are you sure you want them to stay?" he asked them.

"Erm…"

"No, not really, no." Johnny said.

"But how will we get rid of them?" Robert asked.

Oliver grinned…

_(a few minutes later)_

"I have never been in a house so evil!" Mc Duff said, as they walked out, sporting very red noses.

"Never have I heard the name 'Macbeth' mentioned so many- oh Piddlesworth." Mossop cursed as he treaded in a doggy-doo… oh and the fact that he said Mac- you-know-what.

"Yes?" The elderly butler appeared.

"Oh shut up and leave us to die."

"Gladly…"

* * *

Oliver slammed his book shut in a fit of fury. A fit of fury so bad it was fury-fied. A fury-fied fit so fury-fied it- 

"Enrique, what the HELL are you doing out here in the corridor at 2 AM?"

The blonde looked up from his position on the floor. "What does it look like?"

"You're carving something on a lump of lead."

"Yes, but correction; it's a bullet."

"Ah hah, and what are you carving on that bullet?"

"I'm carving, 'Enrique'."

Oliver blinked. "And why are you carving 'Enrique' on that bullet?"

"Well, it's a clever plan actually." Enrique said, standing up. "See, you know that they say that there's a bullet out there with your name on it?"

"…Yes?"

"Well, I thought that if I _owned_ the bullet, I won't ever get hit by it, cos I won't ever shoot myself."

"Oh shame."

"And the chances of there being two bullets with my name on them are very small indeed."

Oliver raised an eyebrow. "That's not the only thing 'very small indeed'. You brain, for example, is so small that if a hungry cannibal cracked your head open, there wouldn't be enough brains inside to cover a small biscuit the size of an atom."

Just then, Johnny decided to come out of his bedroom, for no apparent reason; just a random appearance; you know how they are…

"Tally-ho pip-pip and Bernard's your uncle." He greeted them.

The other two teens stared blankly; Enrique wandered off somewhere, as per usual.

"In English," Oliver said, "we say, 'Good Morning'."

Johnny paid no heed. "Look what I found." He handed Oliver a rolled up magazine. "It's the latest issue of 'Blading arts'. Oh, damn inspiring stuff; the magazine that tells everyone the truth about beyblading."

Oliver flicked through the magazine. "Or alternatively, the greatest work of fiction since vows of fidelity were included in the marriage service." The French boy replied.

"Oh, come now, Oliver." Johnny laughed. "You have to admit that this is good for the stature of all professional beybladers."

"Certainly not," Oliver admitted, handing the magazine back to Johnny, "I just think more could be achieved by giving the urchins down the alley some real toilet paper."

"Not with you at all, Oliver." Johnny frowned. "What could anyone have against this magnificent mag?"

"Apart from their bottom?"

"Yes."

"Well, I mean look at it!" He snatched the magazine back. "All this stuff is about as convincing as your defence lawyer! All beybladers are portrayed as being 6 foot 6 with biceps the size of Bonn!"

"Thoroughly inspiring stuff…"

Oliver just stared blankly at his friend. "Okay, what were you smoking last night?"

"Nothing."

"Well then; that gives me an excuse to do… this!" Oliver smacked the Scot around the head with the rolled up magazine. "Get a life, Jonathon and while you're at it; buy a gun so Enrique can shoot himself with his engraved bullet. Then we can all live in peace; like all the other teams..."

* * *

Naha! There's the Majestics... who's nexton the slaughtering- i mean, stage? 

Just a note: What i am doing, is looking at the scripts for each comedy and picking out a few best bits and eating them up, chewing and regurgitating a nice, goowy wadge of beyblade humour. The original scripts don't belong to me, but this story does, since i have changed the best bits to fit into teh story, ultimately changing them drastically; so no taky-taky or stealy-stealy, okies? Or i'll set Johnny and his little goblin on you!

Anywho review!


	2. Blackadder and Blitzkrieg Boys

_A/N- i apologise for lateness, people!_

* * *

**Story Two- Blackadder and the Blitzkrieg Boys**

_When Field Marshal Voltaire unveils a new strategy to move his liquor cabinet six inches closer to Hong Kong, Captain Bryan Kuznetsov has his work cut out for him… along with his lieutenant, Boris, and smelly, little friend, Private Ian… not to forget his superior, General Tala Ivanov, and the general's secretary, Spencer Darling… oh, I can bet they'll be in __stickier situations since Sticky the stick insect got stuck on a sticky bun…_

It was a supposedly normal day in the Russian armed forces.

Captain Bryan Kuznetsov was sat at his desk, filing notes on his forces' progress. He sighed and brushed lilac locks away from his equally lilac eyes, frowning and placing another file upon the ever growing 'finished pile'.

A hard knock sounded at the metal door, followed by a small 'Oh, shit! Fuck, that hurt…'.

Bryan sighed. "Enter."

The metal door slid open and Bryan's subordinate minion entered. As per usual, the purple hair was slicked back and red-eyed goggles were perched on his face.

"What do you want, Lieutenant?" Bryan asked with a frustrated sigh.

The lieutenant smirked. "Present for you, sir." He said, laying a package on the desk. "Came from main HQ just a few minutes ago."

"Hmm, do you know what this is, Lieutenant Balcov?" Bryan asked, holding up a gun to the light to inspect it.

"Well, it's a good old service revolver." The lieutenant replied.

"Wrong, it's a **brand new **service revolver… something I've suspiciously been sent without asking for it… I smell something fishy, and I'm not talking about the contents of Ian's apple crumble."

"You know, that's funny sir, because we didn't order those new wall-climbing ladders either." Balcov replied.

"New ladders?"

"Yeah, came yesterday. I issued them to the men, and they were absolutely thrilled!" Balcov turned to the still open doorway. "Isn't that right men?"

"Yes sir!" A short, big nosed boy entered. "First solid fuel we've had since we burned Tala's cat!"

"Something's going on…" Bryan murmured. "And I think I can make an educated guess what it is. Something which you, Boris, would find hard to do."

Bryan stood and walked over to another large metal door. He opened it to be met with the sight of heavy rain and a balcony. The lieutenant followed.

"Ah, true, true. Where I was at school, education could go hang as long as a boy could hit a six, sing the school song very loud, and take a hot crumpet from behind without blubbing." Boris almost whispered.

"I, on the other hand, am a fully rounded human being with a degree from the university of life, a diploma from the school of hard knocks, and three gold stars from the kindergarten of getting the shit kicked out of me." Bryan replied. He pulled out a periscope and peered over the large, stone balcony wall. "My instincts lead me to deduce that we are at last about to go into battle."

"Great Scott sir, you mean, you mean the moment's finally arrived for us to give those slant-eyed, Crouching-Kitten-Hidden-Hippos a darned good Russian style thrashing, six of the best, trousers down?"

"If you mean, 'Are we all going to get killed?' Yes. Clearly, Field Marshall Voltaire is about to make yet another gargantuan effort to move his drinks cabinet six inches closer to Hong Kong." Bryan muttered.

"Right! Well, bravo-issimo! Well let's make a start eh? Up and over to glory! Last one in Hong Kong's a rotten egg!"

Bryan stopped the lieutenant and held out a hand. "Give me your goggles, lieutenant."

Boris did as he was asked and took the red goggles off, placing them in his Captain's outstretched hand. Bryan then threw them straight up in the air. A round of machine gun fire sounded for around a minute or two, before the goggles fell back into Bryan's hand… full of holes the size of bullets.

"Yes… some sort of clever goggle-camouflage might be in order." Boris muttered, before walking back inside.

A mobile phone rang and Bryan's hand went into his pocket, bringing out a small device, which he flipped open.

"Hello, the Moscow public baths- no running, shouting, or piddling in the shallow end... Oh, it's you… yes… yes, I'll be over in 40 minutes." And he hung up.

"Who was that, sir?" Asked the large nosed boy, who had appeared after the lieutenant had left.

Bryan stared at the boy dumbly. "Believe it or not, Ian, it was Pope Gregory the ninth, inviting me for drinks aboard his steam-yacht "The Saucy Sue", currently wintering in Montego Bay with the England Cricket team and the Balinese goddess of plenty."

"Really?" Ian asked, excitedly.

"No, not really… I've been ordered to HQ… No doubt that idiot, General Tala, is about to offer me some attractive new opportunities to have my brains blown out for Russia. Bad day…"

* * *

Bryan walked into Staff HQ without a sound; meaning he didn't make any noise. Before him, at his desk, sat a large, chunky blonde man of his age, scribbling away without a care.

"What did you want, Darling?"

The man broke his pencil in surprise. "It's Captain Spencer Darling, thank you. Or in short-"

"Like Ian…"

"Captain Spencer…" Spencer glared at Bryan. "The general wants to see you… General Tala wants to see you about a highly important secret mission."

" What's going on, Darling?" a man with flaming red hair asked as he entered.

Spencer stood and saluted; Bryan doing the same, only half-heartedly "General Tala, Sir! Captain Kuznetsov to see you, sir!"

"Ah, excellent." Tala said. "Just a short back and sides today I think, please."

Bryan blinked. "No, sir, I believe that is corporal Kuznetsol."

"Yes." Spencer agreed. "Captain Kuznetsov is here about the…" He walked up to Tala and whispered, "secret mission."

"Ah, yes, the special mission!" Tala crowed. "At ease Bryan. Now, what I'm about to tell you is absolutely tip-top-secret, is that clear?"

"It is sir."

"Now, I've compiled a list of those with security clearance," Tala said, "have you got it Darling?"

"Yes sir."

"Read it please."

Spencer faltered. "It's top security sir, I think that's all the Captain needs to know."

"Nonsense!" The general exclaimed. "Let's hear the list in full!"

"Very well sir. 'List of personnel cleared for mission Boleslava, as dictated by General T. Y. Ivanov: You and me, Darling, obviously. Field Marshal Voltaire, Field Marshal Voltaire's wife, all Field Marshal Voltaire's wife's friends, their families, their families' servants… their families' servants' tennis partners… and some chap I bumped into, in the mess the other day, called Kai.'"

"So, it's maximum security, is that clear?" Tala said to Bryan.

Bryan rolled his eyes. "Quite so sir; only myself and the rest of the English speaking world is to know."

"Good man. Now, this is the plan: I want you and your troops to sneak out into no-man's land and spy on the Chinese."

Bryan paused. "No-man's land? Sir, this isn't world war one… nor two for that matter."

"But it's a formal name… makes it sound smart."

"Unlike you…" Bryan muttered. "That's the top secret plan?"

"Yes. Now off you go. I want this done in two days time, is that clear? So off you go… out into no-man's land!"

Bryan sighed. "Yes sir…"

* * *

Siberia is a rather cold place, for those of you who don't know. Bryan is one of those who do know and is highly educated in the tactics of sneak attacks but unfortunately…

"Right," Bryan started, looking out at the lights of the Chinese camps in the distance from his position from the ground behind a lump of snow, "first thing to get sorted is the fact that if you crawl over any barbed wire, you are not on any account to go- AAAAAAAAH!"

"Did you just crawl over barbed wire, sir?" Ian asked, lying in the same position as his captain.

"No, Ian, I just put my elbow in a blob of ice cream." Bryan replied sarcastically.

"Well, that's alright then…"

"Right… now we've got that sorted out… Boris, where the hell are we?"

Boris took out a map. "Well, it's difficult to say… we appear to have crawled into an area marked with mushrooms."

"What do those symbols denote?" Bryan asked patiently.

"Pfff." Boris thought for a moment. "That we're in a field of mushrooms?"

"Lieutenant, that is a military map; it is unlikely to list interesting flora and fungi. Look at the key and you'll discover that those mushrooms aren't for picking."

"Good Lord, you're quite right sir!" Boris exclaimed. "It says 'mine'. So… these mushrooms must belong to the man who made the map!"

"Wow!" Ian crowed. "He must be very rich…"

"Either that," Bryan answered, "or we're in the middle of a mine-field?"

"Oh dear." Ian muttered, scared and knowing the full truth… unlike-

Boris whistled. "So, he owns the field as well?"

Machine guns suddenly started firing…

"They're firing sir! They're firing sir!" Boris shouted, ducking down.

"Ah yes, thank you Lieutenant! If they hit me you'll be sure to point it out, won't you!" The guns stopped and Bryan sighed. "Now come on, get your binoculars out and see what those bastards are doing…"

(10 minutes later)

Boris tapped his pencil on the paper as he finished. "There! Everything they've done in the past ten hours-"

"Minutes, lieutenant-" Bryan added, exasperated and close to insanity.

"-Written down!" Boris finished.

"Right, let's go, then." Bryan said, crawling away.

"Sir," Ian asked, "what should we do if we tread on a mine?"

Bryan stopped and looked back at Ian. "Well, normal procedure, private, is to jump 200 feet into the air and scatter yourself over a large radius, making sure to shower everyone within 10 miles with blood and body bits. Now move it!"

* * *

Sometime later, when they were walking like normal homosapiens, a plane crashed right in their line of walking. Bryan cursed and Boris screamed.

"AHHHH! It's Sad Dan! He's come to kill us!"

Bryan hit Ian over the head. "Shut up you idiot… no it isn't; and it's Saddam Hussein, not Sad Dan… now stick close…"

"Are you going to protect us, sir?" Boris asked.

"No," Bryan answered simply, "I need lots of body armour if this guy's a slant-eye and you're the next best thing…"

A man came into view, blonde hair shining even in the grubby mess of… ahem, no-mans land.

"Hey chaps," the man greeted, "can I borrow a phone? If word gets out that I'm missing, five hundred girls will kill themselves. I wouldn't want them on my conscience, not when they ought to be on my face!"

Bryan, nonetheless, handed the blonde his phone, before stepping back a few paces.

"Hi, Enrique here. Yeah, cancel the state funeral, tell the King to stop blubbing. Flash is not dead. I simply ran out of juice! Yeah, and before all the girls start saying "Oh, what's the point of living anymore", I'm talking about petrol! Woof, woof! Yeah, I dumped the kite on the proles, so send a car. Er, General Tala's driver should do… Bobby Tatibana, yeah. She hangs around with the big nobs, so she'll be used to a fellow like me! Woof, woof!"

There was a pause…

"No, not in half an hour, you rubber-desk-Johnny." Enrique shouted down the phone. "Send the bitch with the wheels right now or I'll fly back to Scotland and give your girl something to hang her towels on. Now get that car to the Moscow Abbey!" He hung up and gave the phone back to Bryan. "Right, come on then, chaps. Let's go back to that lovely base of yours and then talk about me until the car comes!"

* * *

Back at the base, Bryan was feeling as if he were in a crowded room with some loony dude… oh wait, he is…

"You must be pretty impressed having Squadron Commander the Lord Enrique Flash-heart drop in on your little noses." Enrique drawled, looking around the Captain's room.

Ian made an indignant squeak but Bryan only smirked. "Actually, no. I was more impressed by the contents of my handkerchief the last time I blew my nose."

"Yeah, like hell." Enrique walked over to Bryan. "Huh, huh. You've probably got little piccies of me on the walls of your bedroom, haven't you?" He tickled the front of Bryan's trousers. "I bet you go all girly and giggly every time you look at me."

Enrique tried to twist Bryan's… ahem, 'John-Thomas' but failed- Bryan, himself, twisted the Commander's hand painfully, making Enrique yell out in pain.

"I'm afraid not. Unfortunately, most of the infantry think you're a prat. Ask them who they'd prefer to meet: Squadron Commander Enrique Flash-heart and the man who cleans out the public toilets in Aberdeen, and they'd go for Wee Jock "Poo-Pong" McPlop, every time."

"Don't talk about Johnny that way." Enrique retorted with a pout. "Well, all right, you fellows. Let's sit us down and yarn about how amazingly attractive I am."

"Yes, would you excuse me for a moment? I've got some urgent business. There's a bucket outside I've got to be sick into." Bryan muttered, walking out of his room.

Enrique turned to Ian. "You look like a decent Russian bloke. I'll park the old booties on you if that's okay."

"It would be an honour, my Lord." Ian said, kneeling down on all fours in front of Enrique.

"Of course it would! Ha!" Enrique laughed, resting his feet upon Ian's back and sighing. "Have you any idea what it's like to have the wind rushing through your hair?" he asked Boris.

"No, Sir." Boris asked.

Enrique farted in Ian's face. "He has! Lucky devil!"

* * *

Some time has elapsed since the breaking of wind. Bryan entered the room some time ago as well and sat on his desk chair, resting his feet upon the desk; Boris and Ian were entertained by Enrique…

"…so I flew straight through her bedroom window, popped a box of chocs on the dressing table, machine-gunned my telephone number into the wall, and then shot off and shagged her sister!"

Enrique and Boris creased up in laughter, but Bryan only rolled his eyes.

The door suddenly opened and someone walked in. "Driver Tatibana reporting for duty, my Lord…"

"Well, well, well. If it isn't little Bobby Parkhurst-- saucier than a direct hit on a Heinz factory." Enrique said.

"I've come to pick you up." Bobby said, flicking brown hair off her shoulder.

"Well, that's how I like my girls- direct and to my point. Woof!"

"Woof!"

Enrique removed his feet off Ian's back and grabbed the male-imposter, placing her across his lap and snogging her. Bryan, sarcastically, checked his watch.

"Ah! Tally ho, then! Back to the bar. You should join the Flying Corps, Boris. That's the way to fight a war. Tasty tuck, soft beds and a uniform so smart it's got a PhD from Cambridge." Enrique gestured to Ian. "You could even bring the breath monster here. Anyone can be a navigator if he can tell his arse from his elbow."

"Well, that's Ian out, I fear…" Bryan muttered.

"We're always looking for talented types to join the Twenty Minuters." Enrique continued.

"…and there goes Boris." Bryan added.

Enrique rose from the chair, lifting Bobby in his arms.

"Tally ho, then, Bob!" Enrique chuckled. "Hush, here comes a whizz-bang and I think you know what I'm talking about! Woof!"

"Woof!" Bobby repeated.

"Remember my offer, chaps!" Enrique added, before they left the room. "All you gotta do is treat your kite like you treat your women."

"How do you mean, sir?" Boris asked. "Take her home for the weekend to see your mother?"

"No…" Enrique smirked. "Get inside her five times a day and take her to heaven and back! WOOF!"

"WOOF!" Bobby's voice rang down the corridor.

"God, it's like Crufts in here!" Bryan muttered under his breath. He stood and glared at Ian and Boris. "If I remember correctly, it was you two who invited him into my room… now, I'm not a religious man, as you know. Henceforth, I shall nightly pray to the God, who killed Cain and squashed Sampson, that He comes out of retirement and gets back into practice on the pair of you!" Suddenly, Bryan's phone rang. "Hello? Yes, I can hear you perfectly. You want what? You want two volunteers for a mission into No Man's Land, Code name: Operation Certain Death. yes, yes I think I have just the fellows." Bryan hung up and turned to the lieutenant and private. "God is **very **quick these days."

**FINIS!

* * *

**

A/N- okay, I apologise for any crappiness… I have rewritten and edited this so many times that I got fed up and I knew I had to update this fic, so I uploaded this one… I particularly enjoyed having Bryan ordering Boris around…

Please review!

Next story… _Monty Python's Life of Brian_… you can guess who it'll star again…


	3. Life of Brian, er i mean, Bryan

A/N- okies, third instalment:

Monty Python's _Life of Brian_!

… or rather for this production: Demi-goddess' _Life of Bryan_!

Indeed, Bryan is in the spotlight once more; ain't I lovely? I just love him so…

Warnings: this is, how to say… _MP's Brian _took the Michael out of the ancient Jews, so in a way, this does, but this is modern, so it technically isn't the same… Hint of Yaoi (I can't live without it) but way minor! You can read on peacefully even if you dun like Yaoi…

* * *

It was an almost silent night in Moscow. No one wandered the streets. No lights were on… apart from on one building…

The Moscow Abbey had one light on and a form by the window was silhouetted by the illumination. A scowl was permanently plastered on Boris Balcov's face.

"Damn bitch… had to have a kid and had to have it here." He turned around and looked at the mess of blankets which held a gurgling baby. He walked over to it and glared at the child. "'Call him Bryan…'" He impersonated a woman's voice. "Pah, pathetic. Fine, your name is Bryan; it sounds like a strong name…" He sat and removed his goggles, rubbing his tired eyes. "I have a tough life, you know kid… and knowing fate, you will too. Pah; look at you… clear lilac eyes, not so chubby face… don't look at me like that." Baby Bryan hiccoughed and gurgled. "Oh, for Christ's sake, why do you have to be so darn cute?"

There was a knock at the door.

"Do you mind! I'm trying to bribe a baby into liking me in later life!"

There was another knock. Baby Bryan began to cry.

"Oh, you fucking idiots…" Boris cursed and he stood, walking over to the door and yanking it open to be met with three strange men. "Who the hell are you?"

"We are three wise men." One of them said.

"Wise? You don't look wise to me. You look like poofs." Boris replied. "And next time, try to be a little more modest…"

"We are astrologers." Another said.

"…" Boris blinked. "What has that got to do with it?"

"We come to pay the infant homage." The third said.

"How do you there's an infant in here? Are you some group of stalker-perverted paedophiles? You're drunk! You disgust me!" Boris began to shoo them out the room fully. "Bursting in here first thing in the morning with some tale about Oriental fortune tellers... get out!"

"No. No we must see him." The first insisted.

"Go and praise someone else's brat, go on." Boris shouted.

"We were led by a star!" The second tried.

"Led by a bottle, more like. Get out!"

" But we have brought gold, frankincense, myrrh!"

"Well, why didn't you say so?" Boris asked, stepping aside and letting them in. He took the gifts off the men as they made their way over to baby Bryan. "What is Myrrh, anyway?"

"It is a balm."

"A BOMB?" Boris exclaimed, mishearing the wise man. "What are you doing giving him a bomb? Yeah, I'm going to train him to be a killer, but not when he's a freaking baby! He might blow up!"

"No, a balm. An ointment." The second man corrected.

"Sorry, I thought you meant bomb. Ignore all the killer business." Boris nervously laughed it off. "So, you're astrologers, eh? So what is he?"

"What?"

"What sign?"

"Um… Capricorn." The third answered.

"Uh-huh… what are they like, then?" Boris asked, examining the gold.

"He is the Son of the Great Spirits! Our King! The Messiah!" The first said, tickling baby Bryan, who giggled.

"Eh, and that's Capricorn, is it?" Boris asked, now leaning over the men and looking at baby Bryan.

"No, no. That's just him." The second corrected.

"Oh, I was about to say! If that was Capricorn, you'd have loads of kings!"

There was a pause while the wise men went down on their knees to pray-

"By what are you calling the child?" The third asked. "By what name has the Lord given him?"

'_So the bitch was the **lord**? She looked a bit male-ish to me…'_

"Bryan. With a 'y'."

"We worship you, Oh, Bryan-with-a-'y', who are Lord over us all. Praise unto you, Bryan-with-a-'y', and to the Lord our Father. Amen."

"Do you do a lot of this, then?" Boris asked.

"What?"

"This praising?"

"Oh, no, no."

"Oh, well, ehm, if you're dropping by again, do pop in, huh. And thanks a lot for the gold and frankincense, ahm, but don't worry too much about the myrrh the next time, all right? Thank you! Goodbye!" And Boris led them out, closing the door behind them. He turned to baby Bryan. "Well, weren't they nice… okay, I admit it; you're the best thing since sliced bread and you're not a brat; happy, now?" Baby Bryan clapped his hands. But suddenly, there were angry bangs at the door.

"Open up!" An fuming voice called through.

Boris pushed back with his body weight. "Bloody babies… everyone wants one!"

* * *

'_Bryan ... the babe they called Bryan_

_He grew ... grew-grew and grew, grew up to be_

_A boy called Bryan_

_A boy called Bryan_

_He had arms… and legs… and hands… and feet!_

_This boy whose name was Bryan_

_And he grew, grew, grew and grew_

_Grew up to be_

_Yes he grew up to be_

_A teenager called Bryan_

_A teenager called Bryan_

_And his face became spotty_

_Yes his face became spotty_

_And his voice dropped down low_

_And things started to grow_

_On young Bryan and show_

_He was certainly no_

_No girl named Bryan_

_Not a girl named Bryan_

_And he started to shave_

_And have one off the wrist_

_And want to see girls_

_And go out and get pissed_

_This man called Bryan_

_This man called Bryan'

* * *

_

"How blessed are those who know that he's of God. How blessed are the sorrowful; they shall find consolation. How blessed are those of gentle spirit; they shall have the earth for their possession. How blessed are those who hunger and thirst to see right prevail; they shall be satisfied. How blessed are those whose hearts are pure; they shall see God!"

"Speak up!" A redhead shouted.

"Sh, quiet!" Bryan cursed.

"Well, I can't hear a thing. Let's go to a stoning!"

"Sh!" A kid of Bryan's age with a large nose said to the two.

"You can go to a stoning anytime, Tala!" Bryan protested, ignoring the large-nosed kid.

"Ah, come on, Bryan!" Tala whined.

"Will you be quiet!" The large nosed kid said to the two again.

"Don't pick your nose, Ian!" A chunky blonde scolded.

"I wasn't picking my nose, Spencer!" Ian objected. "I was scratching it!"

"You were picking it while you was talking to that kid!" Spencer responded.

"I wasn't!"

"Leave it alone! Give it a rest!"

"Do you mind?" A teen of Bryan's age with two-toned hair snapped. "I can't hear a word he's saying."

"Don't you 'do you mind' me, Kai! I was talking to Ian!"

"Well, can't you talk to him somewhere else?" Kai asked. "I can't hear a bloody

thing!"

"Don't you swear at him!" Ian shouted.

"Well, I was only asking him to shut up so that I can hear what he's saying, Bignose!"

"Don't you call him 'Bignose'!" Spencer retorted.

"Well, he has got a big nose." Kai pointed out.

"Could you be quiet, please?" A random teen asked. "What was that he said?"

"I don't know," Kai replied, "I was too busy talking to Bignose!"

"I think it was 'Blessed are the cheesemakers'." Tala said.

"What's so special about the cheesemakers?" Kai asked forgetting about Ian.

"Well, obviously it's not meant to be taken literally;" Bryan said, matter-of-factly. "It refers to any manufacturers of dairy products, including livestock."

"See, if you hadn't been going on we'd have heard that, Bignose." Kai snapped.

"Hey, say that once more, I'll smash your bloody face in!" Ian threatened.

"Oh, better keep listening, might be a bit about 'Blessed are the Bignoses'."

"Oh, lay off him!" Bryan said in an exasperated voice.

"Oh, you're not so bad yourself, conkface. Where are you two from? Nose City?" Kai continued.

"One more time, mate, I'll take you to fucking cleaners!"

"Language! And don't pick your nose!" Spencer barked.

"I'm not going to pick my nose! I'm gonna thump him!" Ian yelled.

"Hear that!" The random teen interjected. "Blessed are the Greek!"

"The Greek?" Tala asked. "What's so special about them?"

"Did anyone catch the bloke's name?" Bryan asked.

"You're not gonna thump anybody!" Spencer continued to Ian.

"I'll thump him if he calls me 'Bignose' again!"

"Oh, shut up, Bignose!" Kai retorted.

"Ha, right! I warned you! I really will slug you!" Ian went to attack Kai, but Spencer grabbed him.

"Oh, it's the meek!" The giant exclaimed, realising what the man had said. "Blessed are the meek; not Greek! Oh, that's nice, innit? I'm glad they're getting something because they have a hell of a time."

"Listen, I'm only telling the truth, you have got a very big nose!" Kai said to Ian.

"Hey, your nose is going to be three foot wide across your face by the time I'm finished with you!" Ian threatened again.

"Well, who hit yours then? Goliath's big brother?" Kai joked.

Bryan sighed. "Fine, Tala. Let's go to a stoning."

Tala cheered and grabbed Bryan's arm, pulling him away from the park to the town jail. They stopped, climbing the high wall, sitting on the top and looking down at the arena.

A man cleared his throat. "Matthew, son of Michael and Jill..."

"Do I say yes?" A man in chains, Matthew, asked. A guard nodded. "Yes!"

"...you have been found guilty by the elders of the city of uttering the name of our Lord, and so as a blasphemer..." the high-guard continued, reading off a piece of paper.

"Ooooh!" The crowd in the arena murmured.

"…you are to be stoned to death!" The man finished. The crowd cheered.

"Listen, all I said was 'This soup is good enough for Voltaire!'" Matthew protested.

"Ooooh!"

"There! He said it again! Blasphemy!" The guard roared. "Did you hear him?"

"Aiiih! Yes, yes, yes!"

"By the virtue invested in me-"

A rock was suddenly thrown at Matthew.

"Ow, lay off, will you? It hasn't started yet!" He protested.

"Come on! Who threw that? Who threw that stone? Come on!" The guard asked, looking around.

"She did! She did! She did!"

"Sorry, I thought we'd started." The woman stuttered.

"Go to the back!" The guard ordered. "Always one, isn't there? Now, where were we?"

"Look, I don't think it ought to be blasphemy, just saying 'Voltaire'!" Matthew protested.

"Aiiih! He did!" The crowd gasped.

"You're only making it worse for yourself!" The guard threatened.

"Making it worse? How could it be worse? Voltaire! Voltaire! Voltaire!" Matthew chanted, dancing around in an Irish fashion.

"Aiiih!" The crowd cried.

"I'm warning you!" the guard shouted, pointing a finger at him. "If you say Voltaire once more..."

A rock was then thrown at the guard.

"Hehehe…" Matthew giggled quietly.

"Alright, who threw that? Come on, who threw it?" The guard was almost insane.

"She did! She did! She did!" the crowd yelled, pointing at a woman.

"Was it you?" the guard asked.

"Yes." She said.

"Right..."

"Well, you did say 'Voltaire'!" The woman replied angrily, but she screamed when a hurl of rocks were pelted at her.

"Aiiih!" The crowd cheered.

"Stop! Stop! Will you stop that! Stop it! Now, look! No one is to stone anyone until I blow this whistle! Do you understand? Even, and I want to make this absolutely clear, even if they do say 'Voltaire!'" The guard insisted.

"Aiiih!"

Multiple rocks were then thrown at the guard- actually, he seemed to be hit by every rock in the arena. Then, a group of women came over with a huge boulder and dumped it on him.

"Argh!" he cried.

"Nice shot." One woman congratulated another, as the crowd cheered; Matthew crept away cheekily.

"Women…" Tala muttered. "Always have to take things literally, don't they?"

"Well, I'm bored…" Bryan muttered, standing up and stretching. "I'm going back to the Abbey…"

"Wait up!" Tala called, racing after him.

They were walking along the path of the park, a peaceful silence passing between the childhood friends…

"Bryan? Could I ask you something?" Tala asked.

"This better not be about where babies come from…" Bryan muttered.

"No, no… it's just: Do you realise you have a scraggly homeless guy walking behind us?"

Bryan turned and he did so find out that indeed; there was a homeless guy following them.

"Hi, you don't happen to have any food, do you?" The guy asked.

Bryan raised an eyebrow at the randomness, but gestured to a bunch of bushes beside them. "What about those juniper bushes?"

The guy's eyes travelled over to the bushes and they widened. "It's a miracle!"

Tala and Bryan looked at each other. "What?" They asked in unison.

"It's a miracle! He is the Messiah!" The man crowed and others came over. "He has brought forth Juniper berries upon the bush!"

"Of course the bush has juniper berries! It's a juniper bush!" Bryan cried.

"He has made the bush fruitful by his words!" Another man called out.

"He is indeed the Messiah!" A woman exclaimed.

"Show us another miracle!"

"Do not tempt him, shallow ones!" The original homeless man shouted; Tala and Bryan stood in the background, oh so freaked out. "Is the miracle of the Juniper bush not enough!"

"Oh master!" One man cried, moving up to the teen. "I am blind! Please heal me!"

"Er…" Bryan muttered, looking at Tala.

"I am healed!"

"What?" Bryan asked, looking back the man when he heard the outcry and also when he felt a tug on his jacket.

"I touched his clothing and I can see! I can see! I am healed! I am- Ack!"

Bryan and Tala sweatdropped as the blind man danced straight into a lamppost, falling to the ground with a 'bladonk!'.

"May I touch your clothing, Lord?"

"May I too?"

"Look, just go away! I'm not the Messiah! I think the Messiah's name was Jesus and he's bloody dead!" Bryan protested.

"Only the true Messiah denies his true divinity!" The homeless man replied.

"What? Well, what sort of chance does that give me? All right! I am the Messiah!" Bryan called out.

The crowd cheered, including the women from the stoning arena. "He is! He is the Messiah!"

"Now, fuck off!"

There was silence.

"How shall we fuck off, sire?"

"I don't care!" Bryan was exasperated. "Just- screw off!"

Tala started snickering before falling into true laughter.

"Oh will you shut up?" Bryan snapped icily. Tala stopped immediately.

The crowd gasped. "Another miracle!"

"He drove the evil spirit from that boy!" A woman said.

"What?" Bryan looked at Tala then back at the crowd. "He was laughing! He didn't have a demon in him!"

"Well he doesn't now!" The homeless guy replied.

"Shut up! He isn't the Messiah!"

"There is an unbeliever here!" The crowd gasped looking around.

A woman screamed. "It is a demonic child! He has the large nose to prove it too!"

"Oi!"

"Kill the unbeliever! Kill!"

"Wait, no!" Bryan tried to calm the crowd. "Don't kill him! Ian's just a prick!"

"Yes kill him!" Tala joined in. He turned to Bryan. "Come on, _my lord_…"

* * *

"Oh look, will you just screw off!" Boris cried out of the Abbey window. He shut them again, including the shutters.

"Come out Messiah!" The chants carried on.

Boris turned to Bryan. "What is it with you and weird people? Are they attracted to you? I mean, look at Tala!"

"Hey!"

"Shut up, Tala." Boris snapped. The chanting became louder and Boris cursed, striding across his office, back to the window and ramming them open. "Look, just fuck off, for Christ's sake!"

"Show us the Messiah!" The crowd below called. "Show us the Messiah!"

"Listen, you weirdos. There's a _mess_ up here, yeah, but no _Mess_iah!"

"Show us Bryan!"

"What has Bryan got to do with this?" Boris called back.

"He is the Messiah!"

"He's not the Messiah! He's a very naughty boy!"

The crowd quietened. "Who art ye?" One asked.

"'_Who art ye?'_? What decade are _ye_ from, weirdo?" Boris muttered. "I'm his… father; that's who!"

"Behold the Messiah's father!" The crowd cried. "Behold his father! Praise unto thee, father of Bryan! Blessed art thou! Hosanna! All things to thee, now and always!"

"Ah, now don't think you can get around me like that!" Boris called back. "He's not coming out, and that's my final word! Now, shove off!"

"No!"

"Did you hear what I said?"

"Yes!"

"Oh, I see. Like that, is it?"

"YES!"

"Oh well, all right then, you can see him for one minute, but not one second more! Do you understand?"

"Yes..."

"Promise?"

"Well..." the crowd looked at their neighbours, "all right…"

"All right, here he is then." Boris shoved Bryan up to the window.

The crowd went ecstatic.

"Good morning…" Bryan mumbled.

"A blessing! A blessing! A blessing!"

"Oh for fuck sake…" Bryan muttered, rubbing his eyes.

"Excuse me?"

Bryan looked down at the individual man. "What?"

"Was your mother a virgin?"

Bryan spluttered. "I beg your pardon?"

"Well, if it's not too much a personal question, was your mother a virgin?" The man asked again.

"'_If it's not a personal question'_! How much more personal can you get? Now, piss off!" Bryan replied angrily. "And one thing; how could she not be a virgin if she gave birth to me?"

The crowd murmured between them things like 'He's right, you know'…

"Right that's it!"

Boris came barging up and pushed Bryan out the way (not like Bryan was protesting).

The crowd cried out. "That wasn't a minute!"

"Yes it was!" Boris shot back. "Now clear off!"

"No!"

"Oh-" Boris just shut the shutters and window, before turning back to Bryan. "You can clear off and all. But don't you dare bring back any weirdos… bring back a Big Mac, for me, will you, though?"

"Sure…" Bryan murmured. "Come on, Tala…"

"You, know, I think you're the Messiah…" Tala said, as they walked down the corridor of the Abbey.

Bryan groaned. "Not you too…"

"Oh shut up." Tala snapped. "I mean, think about it… those three poofs that came to you when you were a kid said you were a Messiah."

"I bet they got lost, though. It's pretty hard to at night in Moscow…"

"But they knew you were there!"

"It's a frickin' Abbey, Tala. There were loads of kids there! Including you!"

Tala mumbled something under his breath.

"Just don't mention it again, okay?" Bryan asked, stopping outside their door.

"You not going outside? I thought Boris wanted something from Macdonalds?"

"I am never going outside again." Bryan stated. "Luckily, though, I have three cases of vodka in my room; care to join me?"

**----(the next morning)----**

"Oh god, this has to be the mother of all hangovers…" Bryan muttered, sitting up. He suddenly realised something- "I'm… Jesus Christ, I never sleep in the nude…"

There was a groan beside him and he froze. He turned slowly to see Tala lying there, also naked.

He blinked. "Shit… Oh well, wake up, fuckface." He woke Tala up by shaking the redhead's shoulders. But Tala wouldn't wake up, only muttering things under his breath. "Fine, sleep in; like I care."

The Russian teen didn't actually seem to care that he'd done **it** with his **male** best friend…

* * *

"So what's this I hear about you being the so called Messiah?"

Bryan turned to see Kai. "I'm not the Messiah; don't you start."

"I'm not." Kai stated. "It's just, if there's going to be a Messiah, I'm him. I mean, I am related to the Lord You-know-who."

"Whatever. Just fuck off and leave me alone, fuckface."

"Beybattle me for the title."

Bryan rolled his eyes. "Whatever."

**------(post battle)-----**

"That was amazing!" Tala's call went across the hall. Bryan was suddenly glomped by a red, white, blue and orange blur. Kai stalked off, sulking with his loss. "You were fantastic."

"Well, you weren't too bad yourself…" Bryan replied, cheekily.

"Is there a Messiah in here?" Bryan turned to see the guards from the stoning arena there.

"Eep." He squeaked.

"Prince Kai said it was you." Said a guard, walking up to Bryan.

"Er, no…" He lied.

"Oh, okay."

**------(a few minutes later)----**

"Bryan, you betraying bastard-son-of-a-bitch!" Boris yelled as he was led out by a bunch of guards. "Hey, hands off. Yeah, my name's Boris, but it's the other Boris you're after. He's that little kid there! His name's Boris-Bryan!"

"Shuddup."

"Hey, he isn't the one!" Bryan called, but the guards went out.

"Oh well… Screw him, lets' go to a stoning!"

Bryan groaned. "What is it with you and stonings?"

Tala shrugged. "Let's go. There might be a good one on!"

* * *

"Michaelo, you're on at the three o'clock stoning and… Boris! You're at the three fifteen, okay?"

There were mumbled 'yes's around the jail.

"Okay then!"

The guard left.

Boris groaned. "God above, save me!"

"Cheer up, Boris!" Said a fellow jailee. "You know what they say?"

"What?" Boris replied boredly.

_"'Some things in life are bad, they can really make you mad, other things just make you swear and curse. When you're chewing on life's gristle, don't grumble, give a whistle! And this'll help things turn out for the best: And... always look on the bright side of life,'"_

The jailees whistled in tune.

"'_Always look on the light side of life,'"_

Whistles.

_"'If life seems jolly rotten, there's something you've forgotten, and that's to laugh and smile and dance and sing, when you're feeling in the dumps, don't be silly chumps, just perch your lips and whistle, that's the key. And always look on the bright side of life,'"_

Whistles.

_"'For life is quite absurd, and death's the final word, you must always face the curtain with a bow, forget about your sin, give the audience a grin, enjoy, it's your last chance anyhow. So, always look on the bright side of death.'"_

Whistles.

"'_Ah, just before you draw your terminal breath,'"_

Whistles.

_"'Life's a piece of shit, when you look at it, life's a laugh, and death's a joke, it's true. You'll see it's all a show, people laughing as you go, just remember that the last laugh is on you! And always look on the bright side of life,'"_

Whistles.

"'_Always look on the right side of life,'"_

Whistles.

"Come on, Boris! Cheer up!"

"'_Always look on the bright side of life,'"_

Whistles.

"'_Always look on the right side of life,'"_

Whistles.

"Worse things happen to see, you know."

"'_Always look on the right side of life,'"_

Whistles.

"I mean, what have you got to lose? You know, you come from nothing, you're going back to nothing, what have you lost? Nothing!"

"'_Always look on the right side of life, '"_

Whistles.

"Nothing will come from nothing, you know what they say?"

"'_Always look on the right side of life, '"_

Whistles.

"Cheer up, you old bugger! Come on! Give us a grin! There you are! See? The end of the story! Incidentally, this record is available in all good shops; unlike this story!"

"'_Always look on the right side of life, '"_

Whistles.

"Summer's got to live as well, you know? Who do you think reads all this rubbish?"

"'_Always look on the right side of life, '"_

Whistles.

"They're not gonna get their time back, you know. I told them. I said to them: Demi, I saidthe readers'llnever get their time back. Piece of shit this is…"

_"'Always look on the right side of life...'"_

* * *

**FINIS**

* * *

A/N- another done… Life of Bryan-with-a-'y'… God, I tormented him so much…

Next time- most likely a few snaps of Catherine _Tate_…


End file.
